


To Soar to Freedom

by Merfilly



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Metamorphoses - Ovid
Genre: Gen, Retelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 14:29:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6288259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/pseuds/Merfilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at the myth, using both son and father to give their perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Soar to Freedom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lexigent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexigent/gifts).



Icarus walked the lanes of the labyrinth, considering the plight that he now shared with his father. Or, more that he suffered from, while his father continued to tinker and create, mindful only of the hand of Hephaestus upon him. Forever creating, and his son but one more thing he had made… Icarus could but sigh for the ignominy of it all. 

The world thought the labyrinth was but their prison, that the King had cast them in here for the treacherous gift given to the princess. In reality, Daedalus had known the consequence of his actions, and willingly done so. Here, in the heart of the labyrinth, given tools and materials, he could create until he slept, and begin again the next day.

Some of what he made was fabulous, and the King was pleased. Some of it was but nonsense, and Icarus took those to his own part of the labyrinth, taking them apart once again before delivering the materials to his father on a different day, so that the cycle began all over again.

Icarus ached for his freedom, though, to see the world beyond the labyrinth. He wondered if there was a Hero's Journey for him, one that would see him rise above the fame of his father's name. Was it not just and decreed by the very gods that each generation should rise above? Had not the Titans cast aside their creators, and in turn been cast down by the Olympians? If this was the divine pattern, why then was Icarus doomed to this place, to forever be nothing more than an addendum to his father's fame?

With such thoughts on his mind, he turned his path through to the way to his father. It was little company enough, but it was something.

* * *

Daedalus was not blind to his son's discontent within their home. He supposed it was not fair, and perhaps he should have sent the boy from him, to live among their more distant kin before the King found him to 'punish' him for his treachery. How could he ever explain that the punishment had been his own design, a willing sacrifice to take on? It kept him safe from the outside world lobbying to have him make things for their might. It gave him peace.

And the gods had demanded it in their own way, for the politics of Olympians had deemed that the Minotaur had to be exposed, and the labyrinth defeated by their chosen Hero, which meant that the labyrinth must exist.

This day, though, Daedalus could feel the weight of being trapped laying upon Icarus's slim shoulders with all the pull of Tartarus's depths. The poor boy wished only to be free, to find his own path, and yet Daedalus had imprisoned him in this place as surely as the King had decreed sentence on the inventor.

"Icarus," he called as the boy picked through the materials at hand. "Find all the feathers of size, and gather the candles that have outlived their wicks."

The boy's eyes lit, and Daedalus saw clever wits begin to knot together the possibilities. Yes, Daedalus needed to take them elsewhere, to nurture Hephaestus's gifts in the boy now. He had spent enough time in this place that the outside world would not endanger them.

* * *

The making of the wings took them a long set of seasons, with Icarus finding new joy in his father's company and wit. He did not know why his father had finally set upon this course; he did not care to know, but the crafting was a joy to him. They sketched out the shapes together, wrote the formulae that would solve the sizing ratio they needed, and Icarus chased the birds that visited the labyrinth to make them shed pinions.

When his father had to create other things, to keep the King from intruding with suspicions, Icarus studied those same birds, as well as the down they shed, seeing how the very air worked. He would be patient, for the wings to be complete. Then, he would take all he saw in how the birds flapped and glided to see himself, and his father, free of this place.

It would not be so long now, he knew. He wished for twine, to thread the pinions more securely, but the King was not likely to make that mistake again. They would make do with only the wax, and fly away together. Surely they would find a friendly shore, where Daedalus could invent safely and Icarus could begin his own Hero's Journey.

Such dreams made the time pass swiftly, and soon they had two fine sets of wings, ready to set them free.

"Now, my son, you must listen to me," Daedalus began softly, as he affixed the wings in place. Icarus turned his face to his father, his eyes full of magic and hope alike. "Do not sink too close to the sea, for the water will weight you down, and the sea will take you, my son. Nor can you fly too high, for Phaeton himself will burn away the wax that binds our wings. Stay to the middle, and we shall set down safely upon the first island we find."

Icarus only nodded mutely, and gave an experimental flap of the mighty wings. Yes, they would soar, and he would be free. For once, his father had created something he could appreciate, even and take joy in.

Together, they made it to one of the walls they could climb, and did so. From there, it was but a leap and a strong downward stroke of the wings, and then the winds of the island caught them and led them onwards. The King would not know for some time, and they were free at last, soaring over the waves and away.

Icarus dreamed of this, felt the play of air on his face and knew he would find greatness. He was his father's son, destined to rise above, every higher…

…there were sounds beneath him, his father's cries, and a warmth pooling on his back. The sea seemed so far below him now, and…

Watching the birds came back to him, and he tried to fold the wings in close, to drop down from the heights he had reached, without truly meaning to. Yet the feathers moved in disarray, flitting free of the waxen bonds, and Icarus knew, at once, the fate that had come for him.

Perhaps, in dreaming of outshining his father, he should also have remembered the sons that had been sacrificed for the greatness of their families. The ocean rushed up toward him, ready to claim his Journey before it ever began.

He could only hope that his father knew the last months, building their escape, had been a time of joy to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Icarus not speaking here is a stylistic choice, along with his death being an accident... we only get the moralistic adult's POV in the myth, not the youth's own words.


End file.
